


Cache of Gems: Tumblr Ficlets

by AstronautSquid



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Domestic, Double Penetration, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Sword Training, Threesome - M/M/M, pirate!Miranda AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/pseuds/AstronautSquid
Summary: An ongoing collection of the occasional short scenes I write for tumblr.Varying ratings, check the chapter title!





	1. the tabby's mystery - James/Thomas (G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when bisexualpirateheart told bean [she'd read fic of James just staring at the back of Thomas' head for an hour](http://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/post/164490591191) I couldn't resist the challenge.

“You know, as a boy I had a tomcat that would do the same thing.”

“Mh?”

James raised his head from his hands; realising that he hadn’t even noticed when the steady scratch of writing had ceased. Thomas sighed, a sound of fond exasperation, and put the quill down before turning away from his manuscript.

“A lovely orange tabby, in fact.” Thomas shifted far enough to sit sideways on the chair, draping his crossed arms over the back. He failed to suppress a mischievous grin. “While I was writing he’d jump up onto the table or the window sill and watch me scratch away, barely flicking his tail, he was so intent.”

James resisted the urge to shift to prove how very much he had  _not_  been transfixed. how long had it been? Surely the candles couldn’t have burned that far down.

Except they had.

“The question that arises,” Thomas went on, extending a hand pensively, “is why, of course. Despite their strong personalities, cats aren’t the greatest of thinkers, so I suppose a moving pen must be an amusing enough diversion, even for an hour. That solves the tabby’s mystery. But what about  _you,_  love? You could read my words and be entertained, except you are down by the fire where you can see nothing but the back of my head. What is diverting  _you?”_

It took James a moment to notice that his own mouth had widened in a slow smile.

“I was once accused of conjuring a tempest,” he said and watched Thomas’ brows rise in amused interest. “That the mere darkness of my thoughts had drawn down the storm upon us.”

“Is that so?” Thomas pensively bit the nail of his thumb, as he was wont to do these days. “And what storm are you conjuring tonight?”

“No storm,” James sighed and shifted onto his side. “But if I can draw down the heavens with dark thoughts, I thought it might be worth the exercise to try and see if I can draw my husband down to the hearth rug with some warm ones.”

Thomas couldn’t help but capitulate into a soft, guffawing laugh at that; that charmingly undignified sound he had always reserved for moments with his loved ones. His forehead dropped to his arms for a moment, before he lifted his eyes until they just barely caught the fire light.

“How warm?”

James grinned. “You’d have to come down here to the fire to find out.”

Thomas held his gaze a moment longer before giving in. Let no one accuse him of neglecting his scientific research.


	2. a thorny philosophical problem - James/Thomas/Flint (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was [provoked into writing this](https://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/post/164909259096/squid-inspiration-lena221b) by the terrible lena221b. 
> 
> i am now rebranding my entire fandom presence around this terrible triad. there shall be more, with more porn and feelings. help.

The upside to having a witch for a wife was that many things that should normally be impossible, ceased to be so.

The downside to having a witch for a wife was  _also_  that the impossible became markedly less impossible.

Thomas had been musing upon the subject a fair bit, mostly in the abstract. He enjoyed the mental challenge, the push and pull of pinning down a thorny philosophical problem, such as  _what should be the limit of man’s power?_

He still hadn’t reached a satisfying answer to that question. Thomas decided to grant himself leniency, however, as he was currently rather occupied with discovering the limits of his own ability to be stuffed with more than one cock at a time. He filed away for later contemplation whether it made a difference that it was, technically, the same cock; just twice.

“Is that good? Thomas, look at me, are you comfortable?”

Thomas was hazily aware of James’ forehead pressed to his own, could feel the furrow of his brow on his own skin. They were pressed so closely together that it felt to Thomas as if they had been passing the same breath back and forth, refusing to let so much as a lungful of air between their pleasure-twisted faces.

A hand came up from behind Thomas to brush aside James’ long, loose hair and pinch Thomas’ nipple rather cruelly. Thomas gasped. His traitorous prick rewarded the action with a spurt of precum, which was rubbed into the sticky, sweat-slick skin of his and James’ stomachs as they ground together slowly.

“Of course he’s not comfortable, that’s the  _point._  Isn’t it, love?”

How Flint could make the tender epithet sound so utterly filthy was beyond Thomas’ understanding, but he saved the analysis for later; because, again. _Stuffed._


	3. reconnect: reach and self - James/Thomas (T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what happens when i try to do a spontaneous take on [someone's fluffy headcanon](https://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/post/165877871766/ohgressfuriosa-bean-about-townn-okay-so). oops.

Thomas had not been self-conscious of his body in a long time. 

Neither Bethlem nor Georgia had held anyone whose good opinion of him he wanted to avoid ruining. The things that had been done to him had made him feel violated, invaded, exploited - but those were not the same thing as self-consciousness. Never had he desired his tormentor’s favourable esteem or thought himself deserving of what cruelties they had inflicted upon him.

He had made friends at the plantation but even with them he had not felt reticent about his body. They all were marked one way or another by their hardships and none had ever known Thomas as he used to be: unblemished, smooth, broad-shouldered but lean.

Then here was James.

Ants crawled between Thomas’ flesh and his skin, making him twinge and tingle all over; in anticipation and anxiety both. Now that they were finally alone in the first semblance of privacy they could procure, he felt the first rush of relief mingle with unbidden thoughts, the insistent questions of  _what if yes_ ,  _what if no_ , _what if again, what if no more_.

Thomas had to let go of James’ hand and turn away do undo his shirt’s fastenings. His fingers shook and he pulled the shirt clean off in one motion to mask the tremor.

As the warm air hit his skin, Thomas heard behind him a small, wrung-out sound; as of a bitten-off gasp.

For a second he wanted to curl up, or to flee the room. He even considered retreating into anger - he had never shied from righteous fury before, and the past decade had turned him harder than before. For a moment he wanted to defend this trembling, uncertain thing that was his body, wanted to lash out because even though he had done so many times while imprisoned, James was the one human being he was certain would understand, would let him be angry and  _know_. James had always been safe.

In the end, Thomas contented himself with wrapping his arms tightly around himself before turning around.

James’ eyes were wide as they alighted on Thomas’ newly bared skin. Thomas tried to read his face, but there was something unpracticed about it. As if Thomas had forgotten some of the nuances, and as if James’ face had forgotten how to show them. As if James were trying to spell a word he had not written in a long time, and fumbled to arrange the letters the right way.

Where words failed them both, James let his actions speak. He stepped closer, hands rising to gently cup Thomas’ elbows. Thomas tensed a moment before he relaxed into the warm touch. James glanced up at him; a quick, almost bashful thing that barely caught Thomas’ eye before hushing back down to his arms. James’ hands ran slowly up from Thomas’ elbows, gliding over the rise and fall of his muscles that had been so modest the last time James had seen them.

James’ thumb paused when it reached the point where the outer edge of Thomas' collarbone rested delicately against the scapula, connecting his reach with his self. His out with his in.

And with this action, Thomas felt as though he had been handed the key to decipher what James fought so desperately to say. He let his arms relax further as James slid his hands back down, pressing thumbs into the soft insides of Thomas’ elbows, brushing over the stretches of sinew anchored below the heels of Thomas’ palms.

Thomas felt compelled to say something, anything, but all he managed to bring out was, “Yes?”

James looked up at him, eyes moist and ablaze at the same time, and wordlessly pulled Thomas with him as he stepped back against the wall. He brought Thomas’ arms up around him, caging himself in.

“Keep me here,” he said in a rasp wet and rough as a cat’s tongue against Thomas’ clavicle, and Thomas felt the sound all the way into his groin. James’ groin, he noticed, was already a few steps ahead.

Thomas kept James against the wall for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys don't understand how at peace i feel after i could correct that embarrassing anatomy mistake to repost this here. for some reason i lived for years under the misconception that the coracoid process is the acromion, and touches the collarbone. ashes upon my head indeed.


	4. grit - Flint&Miranda, Flint&Anne, Anne&Miranda (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s gonna disembowel a man good, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for this [anonymous prompt:](https://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/post/170734683451/since-youre-asking-for-prompts-maybe-some-anne) _maybe some anne bonny interacting with flint? or canon divergence, miranda decides to also become a pirate upon her and james's arrival on nassau?_
> 
> I still have an entire fic about Miranda/Anne (MIRANNEDA) planned, which I may or may not finally write one day, but this fills the void a little for now.

The rhythmic clash of steel on steel was followed by quiet broken only by Miranda’s panting.

“Enough,” James said and lowered his blade. The courtyard’s single lantern’s light flowed along its edge like molten gold.

Miranda frowned as she let her sword sink to her side. “Already?”

“It’s been an hour.” James sheathed his blade, avoiding her gaze studiously. “And you’re not used to this much exercise. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, if you did I’d be doing an awful job of looking after you.”

He had hoped that this would be enough, hoped it  _sincerely_ because his throat went a little tight remembering what had prompted their promise to look after each other.

He should have known better than to expect an easy win.

“I’m more than willing to suffer a few aches and pains,” Miranda said hotly, assuming once more the stance James had shown her. He noticed that her feet were placed somewhat awkwardly, not optimal to catch her weight wherever a fight would throw it. “Don’t condescend to me, James, you know I’m not ashamed of being inexperienced, but don’t treat me like a child.”

Before James could even open his mouth to respond, a shadow detached itself from the corner of the courtyard and stepped towards Miranda. A flash of steel and a clank later saw her sword clatter to the ground. James stilled his hand, which had gone instinctively to his sword hilt, when Anne Bonny sheathed her knife again before Miranda had time to even look up into her face.

“He ain’t wrong,” Anne said, voice abrasive as a whetstone. “He ain’t right either. It’s not just the body, your mind’s not used to it. Don’t matter if you make your muscles go  through the motions again now, even if you could—you’re shaking, you’re not gonna deflect a single blow like this. You have to give your head time too. Let it sort out the mess you’ve put in there tonight.” Then she slanted a look at James. “Better watch that tone o’ yours, though.”

It was a sign of Miranda’s confusion, and of the difficulty of adjusting to their new situation, their fresh grief, that she stood for a moment before leaving with a huff and without words, grabbing her sword before she disappeared into the inn, slamming the door as she went. James’ nails dug crescents into his palm. He couldn’t remember ever having seen Miranda retreat without having dealt a blow at least.

“How long have you been standing there?”

A movement in the shadow beneath the wide-brimmed hat indicated a shrug. “Long enough.”

Having said that, Anne seemed to consider the conversation over and turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She did, and James had to confront that he had neither thought his intent through nor been able to stop himself.

“You.” He halted, inhaled, exhaled. “I mean, people like you—how do you survive surrounded by all… all this?” He gestured vaguely.

“You mean women and you mean pirates, is that it?”

James scrunched his face up but relaxed it into a nod.

“First, stop thinking we’re above this shit. We aren’t. We can handle blood and muck as well as you lot. Takes more grit to do it, on account of you all thinking with your pricks and thinking having one is some sort of achievement. Don’t think right with your brains either. Shit been done to me that none o’ you’d have to deal with. But you treat her like a little girl, she’s only gonna spit in your face harder later, once she can. ’S what I’d do, anyway.”

James swallowed down all the things lying on the back of his tongue like a foul aftertase, like something that he had to spit out.

“Grit?”

“She has it,” Anne said over her shoulder and tilted her head, eyes glinting in the deep shadow beneath her hat. “In case you were afraid. She’s gonna disembowel a man good, one day.”

And James shouldn’t have felt a glimmer of pride at that, shouldn’t have looked forward to the day even as he dreaded it, but there was comfort in thinking of scrubbing the day’s blood off his hands with someone by his side.

When he looked up, Anne had disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr!](https://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/) Where I take prompts and ramble incoherently about Black Sails.


End file.
